


Managerial Duties

by isoisoashley



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baking, Bittle the substitute manager, Eventual Pairings, haus, hockey bros, i know nothing about hockey, smol baker, these hockey bros have taken over my life, welcome to hockey hell, what am I even doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6539350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isoisoashley/pseuds/isoisoashley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay.</p><p>But let’s imagine a world where Eric Bittle did not join the Samwell Hockey team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where Eric Bittle does not go to Samwell on a hockey scholarship. 
> 
> But he does go to Samwell.

Okay.

But let’s imagine a world where Eric Bittle did not join the Samwell Hockey team.

After moving to Madison, Eric Richard Bittle hung up his figure skates and joined the Coed Hockey Team. While Coach’s position at the school helped immensely with the outright bullying, being part of a team sport did its part as well. By the time the Coed Club nominated him for the C his junior and senior years, things were as good as he imagined they could be for someone like him in rural Georgia.

When the scout for Samwell University came to talk to him after their final game of junior year and mentioned the possibility of a hockey scholarship, Eric laughed (and then, because he was raised right by his mama, immediately apologized). But he took the paperwork and went home and started researching Samwell University. Massachusetts hadn’t even been on his radar for schools—goodness, didn’t it get cold up there!—but after clicking on link after link the idea started to appeal to him.

One in four.

He flushed. That was not a reason to choose a school. But he’d been looking at a lot of schools on the west coast for just that reason, hadn’t he? Looking for a place where maybe he could be a little more… something. Maybe just a little more. More himself. More open to new ideas and new places and new experiences. Wasn’t that what college was supposed to be about?

He watched a few clips of their hockey team. They were good. They were also, he noted with growing horror as he looked up the team stats, huge. And seemed maybe a little crazier than what he wanted to get involved with straight out, he considered as he watched a grainy video someone had taken at something called EpiKegster of a mostly naked man with a mustache jumping off the roof.

His heart squeezed at the thought of going off to school to be free and ending up hiding even harder because of some…some frathouse bullies.

Which wasn’t fair to think because he didn’t know them. Maybe they were different. Maybe they were… maybe they were one in four. Maybe they were, Eric thought as he closed the video and moved to head downstairs, but maybe they weren’t and wasn’t that a lot to consider when he hadn’t even started to apply, good lord. He shook his head and headed for the kitchen. He’d just think it out while baking a pie for Sunday dinner and make a decision later.

\- - 

Eric wasn’t ashamed of the sniffling noise he made as he watched Mama and Coach drive away from campus. It was, for all his dreaming of what it would be like, a scary new thing he was doing, coming so far away for school. All the way to Massachusetts for school. Brand new adventure.

Brand new life, he thought with excitement as he turned to run up to his room.

He’d decided, in the end, not to take the hockey scholarship. While the money would have helped, lord would it have helped, University hockey was a contact sport. A…brutal contact sport from the videos he’d watched and when Eric had gone for a few yes-contact pick up games to see what it would be like…it had not ended well.

Mostly he was too fast to catch a check but they happened. And considering he’d passed out the third time it happened (and the forth), he knew it wasn’t for him. Instead he’d gotten a couple academic scholarships and one for baking of all things. It brought his overall costs down lower than if he’d gone in state and when he’d pointed out that Samwell fell pretty high on the academic scale… it had been a battle but not too hard of one and Coach had mentioned it was a shame that he hadn’t gotten the hockey scholarship but maybe he could try out next year and Eric Richard Bittle had looked his father right in the face and lied.

“That’s the plan!” He said seriously. “I’m hoping being there might help my chances.”  
He only suffered a little regret over that lie but the knowing look his Mama had sent him over Coach’s shoulder had lessened the blow a bit. 

And now… now he was here. At a University! He flashed a smile at the boy he passed in the hall and felt a warm flush when the boy just smiled back. 

It was a new start and that was an awfully good feeling. If he could just find someplace to bake things would pretty much be perfect.


	2. Enter: Shitty Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shanghai'd by Shitty.

_5 weeks later_

Things were not perfect. 

But they were good. 

Eric had managed to make friends with the cafeteria staff within the first week. There were only two full-time employees, Roger and Julie-Anne--the rest was filled out by part-time student work. As long as he was out before 7 when breakfast officially opened, Roger and Julie-Anne had given him the OK to come in and use the equipment for baking. Which meant, thank the lord, he was able to stress bake again. The hours were less than ideal, but who needed sleep when there was a crisp apple pie to create? 

The school year was ramping up a bit and classes had moved straight from the welcome/set-up/overview straight into dear-lord-how-am-I-going-to-do-all-this-work? But combined with his early morning bake-therapy and the small study group that seemed to be forming in his English Lit class, he was keeping his head above water. 

Sort of. 

History let out early enough that Eric was toying with the idea of busing down to the store so he could pick up some more butter for the morning. It might be tight, he thought as he glanced at his watch, but he should make it back in time to grab dinner and make it to film class. If he rushed. He picked up his pace and promptly found himself on the ground, breath knocked out in a solid “Oof!” as his butt hit the ground. 

“Shit, man. Sorry!” Eric glanced up as arms came down and hauled him up, tried not to cringe as hands started brushing him off. And then froze as he recognized who he’d run into. “You good?” 

It was the mustached man from the video he’d watched last summer. The one who had been wearing significantly less and jumping off the roof yelling obscenities with great glee. Eric blamed it on being disoriented from the early morning spent sneak baking in the cafeteria coupled with being knocked on his behind. That was the only reason, he was sure, that he opened his mouth and told the man in front of him “good lord, you look different with pants on.”

While that was true, it certainly wasn’t the kind of thing you said to someone when you first met them, he thought in horror as he clapped a hand over his mouth. “I mean… it’s… I just. I saw it on the internet?” 

The guy just tilted his head and lowered his shades a little, quirking a brow before giving Eric a huge grin. “Just messing with you, brah! Which video was it?” He reached down and waved a bit in front of himself as if he was completely unbothered. “Was it, ya know, full frontal? Because I gotta say that would at least narrow it down a bit.” 

“You were jumping off a roof?” The mustache twitched as he put out his hand and made a ‘go on’ motion. “For a party?”

“Nah, not going to narrow it down that way.” He waved it off. “There’s always a party at the Haus and they only end one way. Well. If we won. If we didn’t win, that’s a whole other story.” 

“Hockey.” Eric’s pretty sure he left his brain somewhere back in class. 

The man grins and mimes shooting finger guns. “Hockey! You watch us play?” 

“Before I came here.” Lord, he should really stop talking. The man had slung an arm around Eric’s shoulders and started walking with him and what was happening? “I was--I played. Hockey.” 

“No joke? That’s s’wesome! Not anymore? Well. I mean. Not on the school team, obviously. I mean, not like I know all the frogs but I would remember at least having met you. I’m Shitty.” 

“No! I’m not on the team--you’re not… shitty for not remembering me. I’m not--I don’t play anymore.” 

The guy laughed. “Nah, brah. I’m Shitty, Shitty Knight. It’s my name. Or nickname--I think I’ve effectively bribed anyone who knows what’s on my official documentation.” 

“Oh. Uh. Nice to meet you, Mr. Shitty?” 

“Just Shitty. Or Shits.” Eric tries not to flinch as the guy turned around and puts a hand on each of his shoulders, studying him for a long minute. “Used to play hockey,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’ll do. I mean if you wanted to. You got class? Kind of figured nah cause you’re walking with me. Though I did kind of shanghai you, I guess, my bad.” He paused and then started talking again, slinging his arm back around the smaller boy. “You looking for part-time work?” 

“I, uh, no?” 

“I mean, easy work,” Shitty continued, cheerfully, and started steering him into a large arena--was this the rink? “And if I remember being a frog” a frog? mouthed Eric in confusion, that was the second time Shitty had called him that, “then a little extra cash might be fun. It’s really only for the semester until Lardo comes back, anyhow, though if you wanted to stay on I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the extra set of hands...” 

Somehow, Shitty managed to maneuver him all the way into the changing room as he talked, leaving Eric standing in front of a mostly undressed hockey team. Who were all staring at him. He shrunk back a little as Shitty moved forward to start changing for practice. 

“Uh. Shits?” One of the players waved his hand at where Eric was standing. “Who’s your friend?” 

“Huh?” Shitty turned back around and then gave a sheepish grin. “I didn’t actually get a name?” 

“Eric,” his voice squeaked a little so he cleared his throat, trying for normal. “Eric Bittle?” 

“Eric,” Shitty said dramatically and then paused, frowning, “Bittle… Bitty. Bits. Bits is thinking about taking over for Lardo until she gets back from Africa.” 

A tall, tall blonde, let out a long snort before turning back to Eric. “Did he give you a choice, man? Or just drag you down to Faber?” 

“Um.” 

“Shits. How do you even know he likes hockey?” 

“He used to play!” Eric takes a sharp step backwards as Shitty gives the tall blonde a rush and they start wrestling. Mostly naked. Good lord. 

Lardo, their esteemed manager, Eric learns, somewhere in the next ten minutes, is doing some sort of semester abroad in Africa. And the team--the very loud, very rambunctious team--was pretty sure they could get along without a manager since it was just first semester. 

Turns out they’d been wrong. And Shitty had brought them a solution. When they turned, as one solid wall of tall and weirdly earnest testosterone to stare at him, he’d stammered out that he’d be happy to help, sure, that sounded great.

He’s not entirely sure that it isn’t just to escape the boys standing in front of him.


	3. Vlog Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric gets back to his vlog with some updates.

“Hello Internet Land!” 

Eric pauses here for a minute, unsure of how to go on. “So last time we talked about my change in location and how I’d finally found a place on campus that would let me bake. Well. That’s still happening, only... “ He pauses again, brow furrowed. “I may have gotten myself a part-time job. Or rather. A part-time job found me.” 

He launched into the story of how he’d run into Shitty--”I still don’t know his first name”--and been dragged to Faber where he’d ended up accepting the temporary position of Team Manager. The tall blonde from the locker room, he’d learned was Adam Birkholtz. 

“But no one calls him that. There’s a thing about hockey nicknames? And so they call him ‘Holster’. And his best friend and lineman is called ‘Ransom’. And… the only one without a nickname seems to be the Captain--Jack. They just call him Jack.” 

Bitty’s eyes go unfocused for a second. “He didn’t say much, just came in to see what the holdup was and tell everyone to get on the ice. When Shitty explained that I was the new manager, he just…” Eric made a short grunting noise here. “But I think he’s got more important things to worry about than a new manager. Even when I was Captain of the Georgia Coed Club Hockey Team I remember how that was a lot of work--and I didn’t have to deal with the things real college hockey does.

“But! It should be OK. I mean. I know the rules so I just have to help keep things organized until Lardo gets back from Africa. Then I can go back to regular scheduled student-ing! But in the mean-time the pay should help keep me in extra butter and pumpkin spice lattes through the fall. And it’ll be fun! I think.

Now. I’m sorry to cut this video short but I gotta get going. Shitty’s invited me over to something called “The Haus” so that I can get a rundown of my duties--I don’t know why we’re not meeting at the rink--but he says that it’s important I see where everyone lives to get a better understanding of “team dynamics” whatever that means. See y’all next time!” 

**12 Hours Later**

“...So.” 

Bitty’s face is serious and a little shocked. “The Haus is actually the place I saw that video taken in last year. It’s… it’s a goddamn frat house. Shitty gave me the same speech he apparently gives the frogs--those are the freshman, specifically the freshman hockey players but he said I count--though he did say that they’d have to discuss whether or not I had to participate in Haze-a-palooza.” The camera pans back a little and Bittle crosses his arms and raises a brow. 

“Pass.” 

“But they have something that resembles a kitchen. If you dig under all the red solo cups and hot sauce, it might be something that is worth cooking in. The thing is…” he blushes a little. “I did. Dig, I mean. Shitty may or may not have been a little impaired at the start of the tour and one of the ‘frogs’ said something that was a “perfect example of heteronormative bullshit” and Shitty had to take him aside to explain just why. And, well. 

“Sometimes pie just happens.” He slouches in his chair a bit. “But. I. Um. Don’t think that I’ve ever, ever had a pie so thoroughly, um. Enjoyed before.” His voice lowers to a vaguely horrified whisper. “I’m pretty sure they ate the tin.”

And then, Ransom and Holster had both dropped to their knees and started some chant of “we are not worthy!” and Shitty had stroked his mustache and told Bittle that if he ever wanted to come by and bake it wasn’t like, part of his duties as manager but, man brah, it would be “S’wawesome” if he could. 

“So that’s it. It looks like the pie sealed the deal and I’m officially interim manager for the next two and a half months.” His smile is a little less than sure. 

“Yay?”


End file.
